


Ir Abelas

by FenHarel (MageRightsActivist)



Series: Four and One [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst?, F/M, Minor Spoilers, Multi, One Shot, Unrequited Love, origins and inquisition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 11:39:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4833962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MageRightsActivist/pseuds/FenHarel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four times Cullen saw Surana and one time he didn't.<br/>A one-shot fiction about Cullen and Surana's relationship during DA:O and how it has affected him through the rest of his life.<br/>Implied Surana/Cullen and slight implied Lavellan/Cullen, slightly implied Lavellan/Solas.<br/>"This elf had red hair, freckles peppered her skin, but she was not Surana."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ir Abelas

_Ir Abelas_

* * *

 

 

_ One _

She was always the most awake in the middle of the night, sitting in the library in her robes with candles strewn about her. He would regard her with a soft silence. Her hair was the colour of autumn leaves and her skin lit with a healthy glow. This was his charge, his Surana, he was supposed to watch and protect her.  
He certainly had the watching down to a fault.  
The elf turned to face his presence, smiling softly at him in the lowlight.  
“Ir abelas,” she began with an apologetic look. “It must be a nuisance to be awake so late.”  
It was an offer of conversation, one which Cullen found himself wanting to take so hastily that he caught himself. He loved the way she spoke, the softness, the infinite elegance of her people’s tongue.  
“Not in particular.” was the murmured response, followed by a stifled yawn.  
She laughed then, a giggle which brought heat to his face and desire to his heart. That carefree laugh was so light and breathed new life into his stagnant emotional state. He prayed to the Maker that her harrowing would be a swift and peaceful one. If anyone deserved that much it was her.

They spoke late into the night, or rather she spoke and he listened, but they enjoyed each other’s company until the early hours of the morning when she was finally ready to drift off and a new guard rotation took his place.

In many ways he found the morning sorrowful.

* * *

 

_Two_

There was only a matter of days now before she would undergo her test, her right to practise magic would be awarded to her and in many ways he was terrified. Surana was elegance, grace and charm - she was everything beautiful and peaceful and he could not imagine her contorted into some abomination which he would have to cut down. In the very recent past she had said _things_ to him. He could almost swear she was flirting but he couldn’t allow himself to even dare to hope that she felt that way.  
Today he stood guard in the hallway, watching the apprentices as they passed. Surana approached him, a beaming smile on her face and her hazel eyes aglow with what he could only describe as her own personal essence of joy. It was something she exuded many times, always cheerful despite being kept in the circle tower and always making the most of her situation.  
“Ir abelas, Ser Rutherford.” she spoke to him today, her voice as uplifting as it was on any other. He knew some Elven from his time with her of an evening, her late night study sessions he presided over to ensure she was not browsing anything concerning. These simple greetings were the extent of it, however.  
“Whatever for, my lady?” he asked, the other Templar next to him giving him a small nudge in the ribs, which he pointedly ignored.  
“You must be thinking about the coming harrowings, I only say this because you look forlorn.”  
Somewhat flustered by her noticing his discomfort he cleared his throat.  
“It is my duty and I will carry it.”  
He regretted having to speak so formally when their night time chats had become so friendly.  
With a sad smile she turned away from him, her red hair fell about her shoulders, which he could see were dotted with freckles in the casual clothes she had worn that day. It was too hot, she had complained, so had others. The mages had been supplied with clothes more comfortable for the humid weather.  
He counted the freckles as she walked away.

* * *

 

_Three_

The harrowing went smoothly, quick, with no sign of discomfort on her part. He had known she was special but this was something else. She awoke from her dreaming state with a slow but measured transition. There was a peace in her features he had only seen when she was sleeping and he realised now that perhaps she had visited the spirits before in her slumber.   
Light flooded onto her from the window, it was night and the moon illuminated her with its ethereal glow. Specs of dust floated in and out of the moonbeams and they watched her by candlelight.  
Her eyes opened and showed a fire and understanding she had not displayed to him before. It was that exact moment that Cullen realised he had lost her.  
What she was, what she could become, was something far greater and more important than he could aspire to be. She spoke to him again after this, but all she said was an apology. It might as well have been a farewell.

* * *

_Four_

Voices, places, things, nothing was real. The pain came and went, not in waves but erratically. He saw her from beyond his prison, but was she a vision too? Her auburn locks dishevelled from battle, flushed cheeks and blood-stained armour. She was different, taller somehow, more sure of herself, fierce and larger than her frame allowed her to be. He was sure she was a vision, a construct of how his mind saw her - until he looked into her eyes. That fire, the solemn wisdom of those rusty green irises was something he could never hope to recreate. She was here, she had returned, but he knew it was not for him.  
In time he would remember the things he had said to her on that day, the way he had accused her of wanting him dead, of being a blood mage, had accused Alistair of taking her from him. There were many things in his life he wished he could take back, but this was at the top.

* * *

_One_  


The move to Skyhold had been chaotic at best. Add to the situation the symptoms of lyrium withdrawal and it was becoming a dangerous combination. He had fallen asleep at his desk again, and the dreams of what had passed plagued him incessantly. Awaking with a start Cullen realised that he was being shaken awake by a concerned elf.  
As the sleep left him he found separating the dream and reality was difficult, sometimes impossiblefor several minutes after being dragged from a nightmare like this. He saw fiery hair falling about his face, and began to count the freckles on her nose. How sweet of her to worry for him, his sleep-addled brain thought for him. How kind of her to wake him for his morning switch with his fellow guardsman. He must have fallen asleep while she was reading again, the faint smell of candle wax and ash hung in the air, musty books and mildew were a familiar scent that comforted him in these waking moments.  
“Lady Surana, ir abelas…” he murmured, looking up into her face and immediately realising his mistake.  
The eyes that stared back at him were indeed hazel, but they were wide with confusion and dismay. In all his waking life Cullen had never seen a sight that matched Surana’s eyes, and these were not hers. This elf had red hair, freckles peppered her skin, but she was not Surana. Her eyes were still curious, youthful and hopeful, they did not hold the fire that his love’s once had. With a start he sat bolt upright in his seat as his brain awoke completely and his memories were returned to him.  
“Ah, Inquisitor I-“ he began, completely unsure of how to begin.  
She simply smiled at him sympathetically and straightened her back.  
“Cullen, are you coping alright?” she asked with true concern. This was not Surana. This was Lavellan. He had thought of the circle mage the first time he had met her, for they were so alike in their physical qualities. When he watched her at first he had been intrigued, somewhat infatuated, however he soon grew to realise he could not raise her up as some replacement for a woman he no longer knew. It was unfair to her, and unfair to Surana. Hearing her talk to Solas hammered home even more that this was not the elf he knew in that circe tower.  
“Yes, the nightmares are intense, but I am…” he trailed off, rubbing his temples. “Coping.”  
There was a heavy pause in which neither said a word. “I’m sorry, could I please have some time to recover, perhaps we can talk later if there is something you wish to discuss. I’m sure you have other matters to attend.”  
Lavellan gave him a look which said ‘we aren’t finished here’ but obliged all the same. He couldn’t help but to look up as she left, watch her walk out of the door. From behind he would almost swear it was her. Watching Surana leave again as fabricated as it was tore his heart in two.  
No sooner had the door shut behind the Inquisitor than he began to sob.  
This was his punishment sent by the Maker, by Andraste herself. An elf who was Surana in body only delivered from the fade whom he must see every day as long as this Inquisition continues.  
And no matter how many times he looked at the other elf’s features, he would not find his mage there.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for giving this a read, this is something that I've written just now at 3:00am because the idea popped into my head and I just really wanted to get it down while it was fresh and I had the energy to do so.  
> I'm struggling with illness at the moment so any burst of productivity has to be seized and wrung for every last morsel.  
> Anyway, I'm a big fan of Inquisitor/Cullen but my 'canon' pairing will always be Lavellan/Solas. I enjoy, however, exploring Cullen as a character so at some point there may be some Cullen fics, not only about Cullen and the Inquisitor but just about Cullen in general himself.


End file.
